


White Oleanders

by Lady_Anonymia



Category: TBoA
Genre: At least on Mallory's part, Choppy Writing, Developing Relationship, F/M, Ghasper is persistent and charming, Hate to Love, I just want my evil ghost kids to be happy with each other okay, Mallory is done with his shit but loves him anyways, Poetic, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2019-01-26 03:54:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12548248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Anonymia/pseuds/Lady_Anonymia
Summary: Ghasper has known her,loved her, for a long time.





	White Oleanders

**Author's Note:**

> You know how sometimes you're so excited for your friend's webcomic and you love her characters so much that you are COMPELLED BY THE HOLY SPIRIT to write fanfiction about them?  
> Yeah.

He wants her, wants everything about her: her sharp, bright eyes; her effortless grace. She is the object of his latest obsessions, and he is determined to have her.

She is certainly intimidating: taller than him by an inch or so, and stiff-backed, with a withering glare. If Ghasper was a weaker man, he would've run away with his tail between his legs by now, but he has no reservations about taking what he wants.

"I don't believe we've had the pleasure of meeting formally," he says. They stand apart from the bustle of people in the streets, isolated in a space just for the two of them. Ghasper, despite his cool demeanor, feels his heart beating erratically in his chest. Not many are able to make the man nervous like this: she is a rare treasure, one in a million.

She barely glances at him. "The pleasure is all yours, I assure you." She sneaks another look at him, and Ghasper smiles genially. "Ghasper, is it?" she asks, and allows her hand to be taken and kissed.

"My reputation precedes me. And your name, darling?"

"You're quite forward,” she sneers, drawing her hand back in disgust, “especially for someone of your...standing.”

"Well, forward is better than backwards, wouldn't you say?"

She narrows her eyes at the quip, and Ghasper gets a tingling feeling as she scrutinizes him, peering into his soul. Whatever she is looking for, she seems to find after mere moments. "Mallory."

"Mallory," he repeats, inclining his head. "I hope to see you again very soon, Mallory."

"God forbid," she scoffs, and turns on her heel and leaves.

* * *

He needs her, needs everything about her: the warmth of her body, her thin fingers tangled in his hair. Her condescension bites at Ghasper’s skin like a cold wind, but this does not deter him; it is merely another challenge to overcome.

The sun is beginning to set behind the forests surrounding Ashwick, and Ghasper is knocking on Mallory's door. At least, he thinks it’s hers. It has taken him more than a few tries to find the right house, but Ghasper is almost completely sure this is the one.

The door opens, and Mallory’s beautiful face, twisted into a mask of confusion, greets him. “It’s you,” she says disinterestedly. “Why are you here?”

“Came on a whim.” Ghasper smiles brightly at her. “May I come in?”

The next thing he sees is the wood of the door slamming in his face.

Well, he can’t say that he didn’t see that coming, but if Ghasper is anything, it’s persistent.

He moves to the window, rapping on it with the back of his hand. Inside, he sees Mallory toss her head in annoyance and open the window. She leans on the windowsill and rests her head on her hands, glaring at Ghasper amusedly. She is utterly gorgeous.

“May I come in?”

Mallory cocks her head, eyes scanning his face. “You’re not going to give up, are you?”

“Me?” Ghasper scoffs dramatically. “Never.”

She closes the window and, after a second, the door opens. She leans on the door frame, and Ghasper feels his heart seize with the need to _have_ her, to _keep her away from anyone else_. “You’re not going to apologize, either?” she says, lazily looking him over.

Ghasper bites his lip. “I wasn’t planning on it,” he replies coyly.

The corner of her thin mouth twitches upwards, and she steps aside to let him in. “Good.”

* * *

He loves her, loves everything about her: the way she drawls his name in hushed tones; the feel of her skin— _soft_ , he thinks, _easy to bruise_ —on his own. He can no longer imagine life without her, and he has no desire to.

Their relationship is quiet: all stolen kisses in alleyways and meaningful looks on the street. They both have appearances to keep up, and whatever is going on between them doesn’t fit into their carefully crafted narratives. But, when they are alone, Ghasper delights in dissolving the air of disdain that surrounds his love.

"What on earth are you staring at?" Mallory says, when Ghasper's eyes linger on her relaxed form. They are sitting on the outskirts of the woods, almost close enough to touch but not quite, as the moon begins to rise over their heads. There is a curfew in place, but the both of them ignore it: Ghasper out of spite; Mallory, indifference.

He quirks an eyebrow at her with a sly glint in his eyes. "Can't I admire a beautiful woman from time to time?"

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Ghasper," she sniffs, but her pleased tone softens the comment.

He offers his hand to her, a brief surrender of his grand ambitions, and she accepts it after a second's hesitation. Their fingers interlace, and Ghasper relishes the way that they fit together.

They stay like this until the lateness of the night forces then apart, and even then their fingers untangle reluctantly.

* * *

He misses her, misses everything about her: the low, silky hum of her voice; the handsome smiles he is able to coax from her lips. He is dying, and she is not here.

Ghasper can feel the life draining from his body, a slow, agonizing drip. It's a strange sensation, dying: like a stone is laying on your chest, pressing into your heart, and yet you feel lighter than air. He's almost glad Mallory isn't here: she hates it when he waxes poetic.

He wishes that he could say goodbye to her one last time. She was never very fond of parting words, though. Maybe it’s for the best that she’s gone.

With these thoughts prodding at his psyche, Ghasper's eyes drift close as he feels the last of his breaths slip into the air.

* * *

He wants her, wants everything about her: her sharp tongue and the equally deadly fangs that hide it; her newfound strength, lean muscle tensed under her scales. He has taken a second chance at life, and he is ecstatic to see that she has as well.

Even in this form, she is beautiful: sleek, cold, an efficient machine. Her magenta-tinted eyes watch him intently, as her body coils around him ever so slowly. After all this time, she is still intimidating: almost three times his size. He wouldn't have it any other way.

“Ghasssper...” she rasps, her voice heavy with intention. The sound of his name on her tongue has not lost its charm.

“Mallory, darling,” he says smoothly. “It's been quite a while, hasn't it?”

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are appreciated and (as always) I hope you enjoyed the story!


End file.
